by Andrea Speed
A wild turkey shot from scrubby brown bush alongside the road. Joe swerved, bumping onto the rough dirt-and-gravel shoulder. Damn! He peered around the sunbaked fields. Yeah, maybe he needed to stop thinking certain thoughts while riding his bike.
Joe reached the small town’s boundaries. He weaved toward the intersection of 270 and Wewoka Ave. He parked his bike and locked it onto the metal stand, although why anyone would want to steal the old thing soared beyond Joe’s comprehension. He kept the bike repaired, but still, it wasn’t stylish. The relic had one speed: Joe speed.
“Hey, slacker!”
Joe whirled with aggression until he grinned. “Hey, Dudley Do-Right!”
“Don’t sass me, shortie.” Uncle Jasper pushed away from leaning on the side of his patrol car. Dark sweat patches streaked his tan uniform. He held up his can of iced tea. “Who’s watching my old man?”
“Young Horse came over for a smoke and a chat.”
“Great, they might both run off to Florida together.” Uncle Jasper rolled his eyes. “Hey, did you sign up for the fry bread eating contest?”
“Why should I? You always win.”
“You never know, kiddo. There’s always a first time for an upset at the Mekusukey Mission.” Jasper sipped his tea. He arched his eyebrows. “You any better at mixing the herbs?”
Joe felt his expression stiffen. Next thing he knew Jasper would haul him in for interrogation. “Why does everyone think I want to have anything to do with mixing smelly old herbs?”
“Because you have a talent, a gift. Dad loves talking about your skill. Listen, it’s not a bad thing. You can attend some fancy medical school, come back, and dole out traditional medicine to those who demand it.”
Joe started laughing. “Me, a doctor?”
“Why not?” Jasper pointed at Joe. “Don’t act surprised. You’re a damned smart kid. No one thought I’d be the deputy around here.”
“Now look, you’re more than just the deputy… you’re also a firefighter and you ride a motorcycle. Hell, you’re a third of the Village People.”
Jasper bugged his eyes before he whooped with laughter, complete with cliché knee slapping. “Make me a T-shirt, asshole, and I just might wear it.”
“It’s a deal.” Joe never felt squirrelly about having a deputy for an uncle. Uncle Jasper dished out the jokes, but he also loved having it delivered back at him. Aside from serious crimes, he was the type of law enforcement who issued warnings for the first offense but only came down hard if someone was stupid enough to commit the same infraction. “I’ll make sure it’s purple.”
“Hot pink, kiddo. It’s more complementary to my manly bronze flesh.” His radio squawked inside his cruiser. “Gotta rumble.” He slid his muscular frame into the car to grab his radio. “Damn it, Bill Doolan’s bull is wandering down 270 again. Hey, can I add the cowboy to my Village People shirt?”
Joe grinned. “Why not? Frame a house and join the Navy. You’ll have the group covered.” They both laughed.
“If you can whip up the T-shirt before Dad’s eightieth birthday bash, I promise I’ll wear it.”
“Deal! Cehecares.”
“Hey, you pronounced it right that time. Cehecares back at ya!” Jasper shot Joe a thumbs-up as he drove off.
Yeah, Grandpa Sam’s Mvskoke lessons were taking hold. Joe couldn’t conduct a conversation, but at least his pronunciation and comprehension had progressed. He enjoyed the lessons with Grandpa Sam.
His thoughts flicked back to Jasper’s T-shirt. Joe couldn’t wait to discuss the project with Ed. Ed’s killer caricature skills had landed him many freelance jobs. He would cook up something fantastic for the T-shirt.
Joe entered the Stop ’n’ Sav’s cool confines. “Hey, Sally!”
Sally looked up from her magazine. She focused on Joe and frowned with concern. “Joe, you look like you sweated enough to fill Wewoka Lake.”
“Yeah, I feel the same. It’s nasty out there. I need a drink.” Joe still felt dizzy. Damned hot weather always messed him up.
Scoring a cool drink mattered most. After he slid his fifty cents into the self-serve jar, Joe grabbed a slender bottle of sarsaparilla from the old cooler. Once he had discovered sarsaparilla’s weird spicy flavor at the county fair, he’d grown addicted to it. Before Joe opened the bottle, he rolled the cold glass across his forehead.
“Hilly only orders sarsaparilla because of you. Not many people drink that strange stuff.”
Joe turned to smile at Ed. Before he could speak, another dizzy spell washed across his senses. Joe staggered back a few steps. He blinked. His knees refused to perform the mundane task of holding him up.
“Joe! Joe!”
He had never heard Ed sound so concerned. Of course, Joe had never sprawled twitching on the Stop ’n’ Sav’s faded black-and-gray linoleum floor with a cold sarsaparilla clutched in his hand. At least he hadn’t busted the bottle. Shivers pulsed through his skin, almost chattering his teeth. Why did he shiver when he felt like he was roasting alive inside his skin?
“Joe, hey, man, what’s wrong?”
Joe peered up. Ed’s strong features looked distorted. His long nose looked too wide. The panic in his chocolate brown eyes looked ready to eclipse his dark face. The blue and purple streaks in his curly black hair expanded and vibrated.
No one else lurked near them. “I can’t blame this on you, Ed.” Joe gasped and smiled. “You make me feel fluttery inside, but this is something else.”
“Shut up, you loco hombre.” Ed squeezed Joe’s shaking fingers. “Admit it, you saw me and fell head over heels again. Look, amigo, my handsome face makes you quiver.”
Joe managed to grin. Ed loved to talk flowery. The talent ran in his family. Wait, the world started to look really dim. He couldn’t stop shivering. He gasped. “Dude, I think this is serious.”
“Sally, call Jasper! Joe is going to faint again.”
Joe gripped Ed’s bony hand while he faded into nothingness.
WOW, WHAT super cool air. Heavenly. Joe shifted before he blinked into awareness Wait. Where was he? What pressed against him? Something really cold rested under his back.
“Joe, back with us?”
“Mom?”
His mom grasped his right hand. Joe frowned. “Am I in the clinic? What are these nasty things on me?” Rounded blue bags sat on his torso. They reminded him of big blue ticks. Yow, they were cold. He felt draggy, like someone had filled his arms and legs with lead. He struggled to focus on his mom’s narrow face.
“Shh, calm down. They’re only ice packs. You suffered from heatstroke. Your temperature shot sky-high to 105, but Doc Juarez stabilized you. She placed ice packs around you. You’re going to be fine.”
“Heatstroke?” Joe really didn’t like the creepy blue ice packs. They looked hungry, and he couldn’t escape them. His muscles felt like Iron Man was holding him down, and not in a positive way.
“It’s rare in young people, but sorry, kiddo—tag, you’re it.” His mom tapped his nose. “The doc reckons you need to drink much more water during this nasty heat wave, especially when you tear around on your bike. You are ordered to have water with you at all times.”
Joe smiled despite his lethargy. “I’ll start carrying my water bottle again.”
“You better, kid.” This time his mom playfully gripped his nose. “I’ll make a deal with you. If you drive me into work and come pick me up, you can use the car during the day. You can drive Grandpa Sam to his appointments and games. That way he won’t feel like he’s a burden to others, especially Jasper, although I think he likes riding in the police car.”
What a trick! Joe tried not to scowl. Still, a car meant freedom. “It’s a deal, Mom.”
Mom shot him a wry smile. “And here you thought me the most unreasonable mother on the planet.”
“Did I ever say…?”
“Yep, you did.”
“Well, I didn’t mean it.”
“Of course you did. You’re seventeen.
A seventeen-year-old thinks all parents are unreasonable. Please, I’m not that old. I remember being seventeen. I wanted to escape to college. I wanted to be somewhere else.”
A rush of love tickled Joe. “I know I’m impatient about everything, but I can’t make up my mind about anything, especially college. Each time I think I’ve made up my mind, I start to panic.”
“Stop pressuring yourself. Remember, Big Joe took two years off before he went to college. He’s doing fine.” Mom smoothed a length of stray hair behind Joe’s ear. “We’ll support you no matter what. You know that, son.”
“I know, Mom. Some days I wake up and think yeah, Unc Jasper is right—I could be a doctor or a researcher. I love math and science, but… I dunno, I can’t see myself working in a lab or somewhere compartmentalized.”
“You sound like your dad. He could work in the corporate lab, but he wants to be outside, wants to be part of the initial process. I know he keeps turning down offers to work at the corporate headquarters. I can’t see us moving to Chicago.”
“Sounds like a movie: A Band of Seminoles in Chicago. Hey, I could be like the mascot for—is it their hockey team? Yeah, the Blackhawks.” Joe snickered before he groaned again. “Wow, I feel weird, sorta like my arms and legs are too heavy. Is that part of heatstroke?”
“No, you needed a muscle relaxer because you were shivering. Shivering interferes with lowering your temperature.” Mom smiled. “Listen to me, like I’m an authority on heatstroke. I listen well, eh? Dr. Juarez wants you to rest for a few hours with the ice packs on you. You’re bound to be groggy. I’ll take you home with me.”
“I left—”
Mom patted his arm. “Ed unlocked your bike and put it in the store’s back room. You can pick it up in a few days. You need to rest at home for at least three days.”
“Three days!” Joe groaned with dismay.
“Heatstroke is serious, kid. We don’t want you running around in this dreadful weather.” Mom shifted to slide off the bed. “Now try and sleep or at least lie still. Rosa will keep an eye on you.”
“Thanks, Mom. I think I can sleep. I feel wiped out.”
Joe smiled when she kissed his cheek. “See you soon, Joe.”
Joe had no problem drifting into sleep.
AS HE grabbed the car keys from the kitchen key rack, Joe regarded the wall calendar depicting famous Seminole warriors. Hard to believe ten days had passed since the heatstroke had struck him down. Now he felt fine, although the painful memory haunted him.
Before he left the house, Joe checked on Grandpa Sam and his pals during their card game. “I’m running into town for a little while. You old cheaters need anything?”
“Yeah, for you to buy some respect.” Young Horse scowled at Joe before he grinned.
“I’ll see what I can do. Stay out of trouble.”
Grandpa Sam winked at Joe. “Don’t worry, today is not a wandering day. It is a day for me to win every game.” He shuffled the battered card deck.
“Sounds good.” Joe saluted the pinochle players before he walked out the back porch door. He made sure to let the door close gently. Grandpa hated hearing the screen door bang. He thought the sharp sound created disharmony in the house.
Grandpa had some real out-there ideas. Like his cards—the pinochle deck Grandpa Sam played with was probably older than Big Joe, but he refused to use a new deck. It fit in with Grandpa Sam’s other quirks and rules.
Joe slid into the Honda Prelude, the beige interior feeling hot despite the open windows. Once he started the car, he rolled up the windows and cranked up the air conditioner to arctic blast mode before he got out again. Joe sipped water as he waited for the interior to cool down. He roamed to the goat pen and massaged their warm heads when they scampered out from the barn. Grandpa Sam’s goats produced award-winning cheese.
Joe shrugged. Maybe he did need to follow Grandpa Sam’s advice. It seemed Grandpa Sam understood nature to the point of bending her to his natural will.
Whoa, what a weird thought. Joe returned to the car. His new mobile freedom pleased him. He made sure he didn’t abuse his car privileges. Although he hadn’t driven in months, after a weekend session with Big Joe, he remembered his driving skills. His mom’s practical car suited him just fine.
Joe found it hard to believe he hadn’t seen Ed in a week. His friend had come to see him while Joe recovered, but family problems had forced Ed to take time off from the store and drive his mother to Texas. Poor Ed. Bad luck seemed to haunt Ed’s large Mexican family. This time a car had hit Manuel, Ed’s brother, in a car repair parking lot, resulting in two broken legs and a busted hip. Some hotshot motor head had zipped out of a repair bay and rammed into Manuel. Sure, it was an accident, but Ed’s determined mom wanted to make sure Manuel received compensation from the repair shop. When it came to her children’s welfare, Rosita Perez acted like an angry badger.
A few minutes later, the car’s interior felt cool enough to enter. Joe drove cautiously down the long gravel driveway. As he drove, he shook his head with admiration. Ed had called him to report Manuel’s medical bills were being paid by the chain repair shop’s parent company. No lawsuits—but plenty of signed agreements arranged by Mrs. Perez guaranteed Manuel’s medical care and aftercare.
He waited for a clutch of cars to pass before he turned onto the blacktop. Today he and Ed planned to eat lunch at their secret spot, in the hollow created by the roots of an ancient weeping willow clinging to the banks of Lake Wewoka. Under the willow they could sit shoulder to shoulder without anyone suspecting anything and practice kissing. Their kisses still seemed awkward and too short. Joe chuckled. Eduardo Perez might have the flowery word skills down, but he kissed like a boxer throwing a wild punch. He needed to slow down.
They worked well together—Joe taught Ed about kisses, and Ed taught Joe not to hold back on expressing himself. No wonder Ed had the gift of persuasion. He had inherited it from his dad. No matter who was around, Mr. Perez would come up behind Mrs. Perez, tickling her and nibbling her neck, provoking her into peals of high-pitched giggles. Mr. Perez called Mrs. Perez his best girl, or his sweet flan, or precious honey bunny… the man liked his words. Hanging around their house resembled stepping into a Mexican soap opera, like something on Telemundo. Ed’s three younger sisters were always arguing or his older brothers were always getting into trouble. Their three shelter mutts—Moe, Larry, and Shemp—added to the drama by racing around and trying to trip up everyone.
Joe loved hanging out there. Yeah, he loved his parents, but they were controlled, more—he sought the correct word—reserved. That was it, reserved. Okay, not so much his mom, but his dad, Joseph Brown Sr., displayed an intense reserve, a reserve vast as the oil fields he worked at testing. He seldom smiled or laughed. When Big Joe had congratulated Joe on his driving skills, Joe had wanted to hug him, but that would have made them both feel weird.
Joe wondered how he had turned out so differently from his father. Well, not really—Big Joe excelled at science and numbers, and Joe had inherited that skill.
Artistic Ed was a surprise to his family. Mrs. Perez ran Chili Beans, a boutique Mexican café that did amazing business. On weekends, when he wasn’t at the oil field, Mr. Perez helped clean and tend bar. Ed could have gotten a job there. The rest of the Perez kids often worked there, but Ed declared he spent too much time with his family as it was—he didn’t want to work with them too.
At least working at the Stop ’n’ Sav let them spend time together. Joe didn’t need an excuse to pick up things from the store.
Joe blinked. He had been so intent on his rambling thoughts, he had almost forgotten to turn into the road leading to the alley behind the store. He pulled up, laughing as Ed pretended to waltz toward the car. He waved a brown plastic bag back and forth.
Ed saluted him as he plunked onto the passenger seat. “Amigo, you are a sight for sore eyes. I have missed you soooo much. Look, I scored us off-date tuna hoagies for our feast. Hilly doesn’t mi
nd if I take them as long as I don’t report him if I get sick.” As he laughed, he massaged Joe’s shoulder. He fell serious. “You really scared me when you fainted. Here’s the dude I want to spend my life with dying in my arms. Romantic, ha, but no thanks. Dude, don’t do that to me ever again.”
Ed’s words startled Joe. He almost ran into a green plastic trash bin set too far away from the alley wall. Had Ed really said those dramatic words?
All Joe could manage was a strangled, “What?”
“What do you mean ‘what’?”
“What do you mean?”
This time Ed poked his shoulder. “Dang, Joe, did the heatstroke short-circuit your brain? What do you want me to explain? Or maybe I should sketch it out for you.”
Now even simple words failed him. Joe shook his head. He escaped from the alley, steering onto the road. He knew Ed was staring at him, waiting for some logical explanation.
“Joe?”
“No. Not now. Wait.” He kept shaking his head to emphasize his request.
“Okay.” Ed massaged Joe’s shoulder again.
The short drive back to his house seemed stretched in time, somehow twisted, like a county fair taffy pull. Instead of returning to the house, Joe guided the car down a narrow, hard-packed dirt track. He parked in the shade of a few young willows. He was out of the car and walking across the dusty grass before he realized he had parked. Behind him, Ed shut the passenger door.
The agitation circling in Joe’s mind drove him to ladder down the bank into the cool root cave. He dropped to dead leaves coating the ground. Ed followed, almost stepping on Joe’s hand in his haste.
After he settled onto the leaves, Ed reached out for Joe, hesitated, and then opted to hold out his hands in question. Joe hated seeing the confusion on Ed’s face.
“What is going on? What did I say wrong?”
“‘The dude you want to spend your life with’?” Joe stared at Ed in the shimmering luminosity reflecting up from the lake. Spidery light traced over Ed’s dark cheeks, highlighting the color in his hair. “Did you really say that to me?”
